Authors: Frederic Lindsay
She
opened
the
first
door,
but
instead
of
being
Mrs Stewart's
office
it
was
a
larger
room
with
an
oval
table
occupying
the
middle
of
the
floor.
Bundles
of
folders
were
lined
up
in
neat
rows
on
top
of
it.
In
the
passage
again,
the
remaining
doors
were
of
plain
wood
and
without glassed.
A
plate
was
screwed
to
the
upper
panel
of
the
second,
however,
a
little
thing
easy
to
miss:
“M.
E.
Stewart,
Administrative
Secretary”,
and
now
from
inside
came
the
unexpected
sound
of
laughter.
As
she
stretched
out
her
hand,
the
door
opened
away
from
her,
a
young
woman
swung
out,
broke
step,
and
was
past
and
off.
'Can
I
help
you?'
It
was
a
tall
older
woman
with
pale fine-drawn
features,
rising
from
behind
a
desk.
'This
is
the
Gregory
and
Rintoul
Trust.
Have
you
been
in
touch
with
us?
Are you in
the
right
place?'
'It's
Mrs
Stewart,
isn't
it?'
Having
found
her
voice,
Lucy was
relieved
by
its
firmness.
'I'm
Professor
Ure's
wife.’
How
else
should
she
describe
herself?
'How
awful
of
me!
Now,
to
be
fair,
it
has
been
such
a long
time.’
With
a
shepherding
gesture,
she
gathered
Lucy
into
the
office
and
called
out
into
the
corridor,
'Sophie,
be
a
dear,
would
you?
Make
coffee
and
bring
it
through.
Would
you
do
that,
please?'
Sophie?
Settled
again
behind
her
desk,
Mrs
Stewart
summoned
a
look
of
enquiry.
As
the
silence
lengthened,
Lucy
felt
her
face
crumple
into
a
smile.
Mrs
Stewart
responded
and
then
returned
to
being
puzzled.
They
avoided
one
another's
eye.
At
last
the
girl
appeared
with
the
coffees
carried on
a
tin
tray
with
a
motif
of
pink
flowers.
It
was
odd,
Lucy
thought,
the
things
that
caught
one's
attention.
'I'm
afraid
they've
both
been
milked
–
is
that
all
right?
Sure?
She could
fetch
another.’
The
girl
had
hesitated,
perhaps
expecting
to
be
introduced,
but
now
as
the
cup
was
finally
handed
over
Lucy
heard
the
door
click
shut
behind
her.
'Sugar,
then?'
'My
husband
nagged
me
until
I
stopped.’
'I
can
imagine,'
Mrs
Stewart
said,
'that
it
would
be
difficult
to
refuse
the
Professor
once
he
had
set
his
heart
on
something.’
'Oh,
it
was
quite
long
ago,'
Lucy
said
vaguely.
Mrs
Stewart
became
busy
setting
the
tray
to
one
side.
'None
of
us
take
sugar,
you
see,
and
so
when
we
have
a
visitor
that's
when
sometimes
we
find
we're
out,
completely
out.
Oh,
but
biscuits?
We
certainly
have
those!'
Lucy
shook
her
head.
'I
was
passing.
I
shouldn't
be
keeping
you
from
your
work.’
'We
have
a
break
about
now.
In
the
afternoon.
We
get through
the
work
all
the
same.’
God!
Lucy
thought,
I'm not criticising
.
By
a
kind
of
reflex,
she
wondered
how
efficient
Mrs
Stewart
was.
'I'm
coming
to
the
meeting
on
Wednesday,
you
see.
And so
I
thought
I
would
look
in.
Find
my
way,
after
such
a
long
time.’
'But
Professor
Ure
will
be
coming?'
She
had
heard
that
note
in
too
many
other
voices
to
mistake
it.
She
added
Mrs
Stewart
to
the
number
of
Maitland's
devotees.
'Oh,
it's
not
that
he
won't
be
there.’
'But
there's
something
which
interests
you?'
Julian
Chambers
had
asked
the
same
question.
As
for
rights,
who
had
more
right
than
she
to
be
at
a
meeting
of
the
Trust?
She
was
the
last
surviving
Rintoul.
Whatever
her
reason,
she
had
the
right. 'Perhaps
there's
an
agenda
you
could
let
me
have?'
'Professor
Ure
will
have
received
one.
They
go
out
to
let
the
Committee
prepare.’
'For
myself.
I'd
like
one
for
myself.’
'Of
course.’
Lucy
tried
to
take
in
the
detail
of
the
items.
None
of
it
meant
much
to
her.
There
was
no
mention
of
Monty
Norman
or
the
plan
to
create
a
new
appointment.
'The
yellow
sheet
is
the
agenda.
The
blue
ones
give
background
information
on
matters
that
will
come
up.
We've
found
that
helpful.
The
minutes
of
the
previous
meeting
are
on
the
white
sheets.
The
paragraphs
are
numbered
for
ease
of
reference.’